Rabbit Hole
by Foxtrick13
Summary: Alternate take on the end of S5.  House suffers a mental breakdown and a head injury.  Will he be able to recover and who will help him set his mind right?
1. Mind Fuck

Rabbit Hole

Summary: Alternate take on the end of S5. House suffers a mental breakdown and a head injury. Will he be able to recover and who will help him set his mind right?

Disclaimers: I do not own House or the other characters in the show. I also do not own any of the songs or albums, products, or other TV shows mentioned. So please don't sue, my stuff wouldn't cover it...

Warning: This story contains swearing, child abuse, rape, severe mental illness, drug abuse, violence, and other unpleasant things. However, later on there will be sex and relationship stuffs…

Pairings: House/OC, Cuddy/Lucas, Wilson/OC, Chase/Cameron

"_text_" = foreign language

This is my first fic. It's also unbeta'ed. Please read and review…

Chapter 1 – Mind Fuck

It was bad enough that Amber was in his apartment, but now the place was crowded with the dead. His eyes scanned the room. Kutner, his father, former patience, dead marines that he had met as a child, the little girl from his second grade class who died of scarlet fever. He looked down at the bottle of Vicodin in his hand. Had it really caused him to lose his mind?

"Fucking pussy. You never could handle anything, could you? If it wasn't for me, you'd never be in line."

House backed up as his father came towards him menacingly. He hadn't felt this scared since he was a child. The man who was supposed to be a father, instead promising swift violence and evoking fear. The man who was supposed to love and protect his family, who would rather beat him and his mother. House backed into a corner, hoping to save himself.

"This isn't real! You are all dead! You can't hurt me!" House snarled at the crowd, trying to take control of his mind. If he could just be strong, this would all go away, it would be just a bad dream.

"Of course this is real," Amber giggled evilly. "You tried to kill Chase. You killed me. You killed all those people who came to you to get well. Now you're going to suffer for your sins. And, just maybe, you'll die too!"

House gasped as his father grabbed him around the throat, choking him. As his vision began to go grey, he was slammed to the floor. Pain flooded his body and he screamed. He tried to get up, only to find himself pinned to the floor by several people. He remembered them, they had come into the ER when he was doing his emergency medicine rotation in medical school. They were all druggies or thugs that had either overdosed or been shot. He couldn't have helped any of them, they were too far gone to save. One man, who he remembered had been stabbed to death for attacking his neighbor's son, smirked at him.

"I'm gonna fuck you, and it's gonna be fun. Only for me though." He grabbed House's jeans and ripped them off. House snarled and went to attack the man, only to be thrown back down onto the floor.

"Come on baby, I like 'em better when they fight. Too bad that jerk killed me, I had fun with lots of guys. Now, I'm gonna make you scream like they did."

The pain of being raped is nothing like the pain that he had in his leg. His leg he could deal with, it was somewhat logical. Being pinned down and forced, illogical. All he could do was scream and try to get away.

The crowd either cheered or watched with blank expressions.

"Come on, it ain't that bad. I did this crack all the time."

"What's wrong little boy, can't deal with the pain?"

"Stupid fuck, doesn't even know how to save himself!"

"He deserves it, damn junkie!"

"Take it like a man, you fucking pussy!"

"Now you know the pain you give others, you heartless bastard!"

Amber loomed over his head, laughing at him. "Time to die Greggy. Any last words?"

He looked at her, angry, fearful, and in pain. He couldn't take it anymore. He started to kick and punch anything and everything in his path.

He pulled up his jeans, grabbed his jacket and helmet. He limped as fast as he could out to his bike. He was running on adrenaline as he started it up and tore out. He didn't know where he was going, nor did he care that he was speeding down the highway. He just drove.

He was doing fine until he ran out of gas. Some back alley, in some city, he cursed at his motorcycle for not having a bigger tank. He took off his helmet and started to limp his bike somewhere. He didn't see the guy in the darkness. He didn't hear him sneak up on him. He only felt the baseball bat to his back and then to his head.

House fell to the pavement. The man took House's jacket, wallet, helmet, keys, bike, and shoes. They would make him good money tonight, maybe enough to pay off his bookie. He laughed and pushed the bike out onto the street.

Blood ran down House's head, from his ears and nose. Broken bottles cut into him, barely breathing from the broken ribs. He faded in and out, only seeing the hazy light of a broken neon sign.

Brad, Stan, and Alex had been out on the town. It was Friday night and all three had gotten promotions at work. They partied and bar hopped until closing time. As they stumbled to the nearest taxi stand, they laughed at stupid jokes.

"Brad! Hold up! I gotta piss!" Stan knew he shouldn't had drank those last three beers. He giggled to himself, remembering his grandpa. "I gotta piss so bad or my eyes will float away."

"Piss in the alley, dumbass. And your eyes ain't gonna float away, you retard!" Brad said, laughing.

Stan went next to a dumpster in the alley. As he did his business, he looked around. "That's a strange looking trash bag," he thought as he zipped himself up. He went over to take a better look, only to find House in a puddle of blood.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" Stan screamed and ran out of the alley.

"Whoa, what the fuck man?" Alex looked at him, slightly pissed off.

"There's a dead guy in the alley! There is a guy, dead, in a pool of blood, in the fucking alley!"

Brad and Alex looked at each other, then dashed into the alley. Alex bent down to check for a pulse, Brad called 911, and Stan paced outside the alley. Soon the alley was swarming with cops and paramedics. The guys told the cops what had happened. Stan was nearly in tears after being interviewed for a third time. The alley was taped off, detectives searching for clues and starting on the crime report.

House had been put onto backboard, a cervical collar was placed around his neck. IV's were put in, an oxygen mask put on. One of the paramedics looked through his pockets for a wallet or something to identify him. He was disappointed to find only sucker wrappers. As House was loaded into the ambulance, the paramedic tried to get any sort of pain response from him. He also used his pen light to check his eyes for reaction times.

"What's his status?" Detective Vance came over to the side door of the ambulance. He ran his hand over his bald head, a nervous reaction that he had since he was a child.

"He's lost a lot of blood, got a bad head injury, possible punctured lung, and no ID."

The detective nodded and handed the paramedic his card. "I'll be over as soon as I'm finished here. Take him. If he comes to and says anything, let call me." The paramedic nodded and shut the door.

The ambulance drove off to Good Samaritan hospital ER…


	2. Shattered Hexagonally

Chapter 2 – Shattered Hexagonally

Tabby Morris sang very loud while painting the walls of her living room. Her living room, her house, her own spot in the world. After the life she had, she never thought she'd see this moment. Her long red hair was tucked under a pink bandana to avoid getting stuck together from the eggshell paint that dripped off of the roller. Her pale pink tank top and cut off jeans were splattered with all shades of paint. She had painted every room of her new place. Next would be wallpaper boarders in some of the rooms and curtains.

A very old boom box was plugged into the wall, playing a tape that she had copied from one of her cds. She remembered this cd, the first one she ever bought with her first ever paycheck. Spacehog, Resident Alien, from Replay's, $3.50 plus tax. Most people never understood that moment, only the people from the center did. Being able to have a job, have money, have a safe place to stay. Now, in her little piece of heaven, a small Victorian cottage. 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, a living room, a basement, a kitchen, an attic, a yard.

She mentally made a note to check the back fence so that her dog couldn't get out. Ginger, a brindled greyhound, was staying with her friend. Ginger had been saved from a horrible owner that had wanted to splatter her brains over the racetrack parking lot with a glock for losing her races that weekend. Luckily for the dog, the man was drunk and ended up shooting himself in the foot. Tabby was walking by and hid herself and the dog until the police had left with the man. She promised the dog that she would never make her run or hurt her like he had. The dog seemed to understand her and her problems. So for the last 5 years, the two of them lived together in a tiny apartment. Now, Ginger would have a yard, a doggie door to go in and out as she pleased, and a place by the fireplace in the winter if she wanted.

This would be the last coat of paint inside that she would need to do. Tomorrow, she would start on the finishing touches on the house before the move in. She moved into the kitchen, changed tapes to Beck's Odelay, and opened up the last can of lemon crème. The kitchen was to be sunny and warm, a welcome place to be in the morning while getting ready for work. Painting, singing, and dancing. She hadn't been this happy in a long time.

She hoped the others would appreciate her hard work and like what she did with the place. Sometimes they would fight over things and make life difficult. Some of them had a habit of destroying things that they didn't like and she didn't want to have to repair or replace things. She was determined to have calm in the house and happiness. It was time that they all were able to be at peace, without all the problems that they dealt with in the past.

She finished up then sat down on an empty five gallon bucket of primer. She was tired and ached from that last bit of work. She opened a bottle of Mountain Dew and took a long drink. It was very bad for her, but she didn't really care at the moment. It was cold and sweet, it hit the spot.

"Hello baby."

Tabby froze, then looked over at the young man at the back door. He leered at her and leaned up against the door.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'm hurt! You don't remember me? Well, maybe I'll help you." He grinned evilly and kicked in the door.

Tabby ran back to the living room. She grabbed a putty knife to defend herself. She didn't know this creep, and she wasn't going to take any shit from him.

"Come here baby. I got something for you!"

She found another putty knife and started for the front door. She didn't see him, coming around the corner until the bottle hit her over the head. She fell to the floor, holding her bleeding head.

"Poor baby, you can't block a bottle with your head! You also cannot have want isn't yours. You stole from us and I'm here to take it back." He landed a kick to her back, then another to her stomach.

"When the police find you, you'll go to jail with the rest of them. You'll fry with the rest of them!" She growled at him.

He stabbed her twice in the back with the broken bottle. She tried to scream but ended up coughing up blood instead. He smirked, and then left the room.

"_You need to focus. It is just pain. You need to get up and go through the front door. The neighbor across the street is home and she has a dog. The dog will smell the blood and bug her until she answers the door. He's going to kill you, go now!_"

She started to get up but was kicked down to the floor. She looked up to see her killer looming over her.

"You're gonna burn for burning us. You should have been a good girl and took it. Look at what I'm having to do. Burn down such a nice house because you had to leave. Oh well, I guess if you want it so bad to die for, not much I can do now."

The room smelled of gasoline, he doused the place from attic to basement. He also made sure to put extra gas cans next the main supports of the house. The fire would make the house collapse into the basement and most likely burn hot enough to destroy even her bones. He smiled and took out a match.

"Daddy dearest says hi, by the way. He didn't want it to end like this. But like I said, you did this to yourself. Too bad you're gonna burn, you were a good piece of ass."

He lit the match and touched it to the gasoline. As the house caught fire, he smiled and walked out the back. He would find himself a nice place to watch it burn. Maybe he would drink a beer while he watched. The whole thing made him giddy and he whistled as he jumped the back fence.

Everything was on fire. Tabby knew that if she didn't do something, she would burn to death. She never wanted to die like this. She knew about the others, that they had died like this or worse. She was dangerous alive, if only to those scumbags, and she wanted to stay that way.

A neighbor did see the fire and called 911. She told the cops that she didn't know if the lady was still inside painting, like she was earlier when she got home. Firefighters rushed to the house and hooked up the truck to the hoses and hydrant. They started working to put out the fire. Three firefighters went into the house looking for anyone inside.

Tabby curled up into the corner. She couldn't breath, not only from the smoke but from the blood she coughed up. The fire twisted and turned around her, dancing a strange dance from every surface. Normally, she would have been fascinated to see such a thing, but not now. She could feel herself burning and was powerless to stop the horrific pain. So she did the only thing she knew how, she retreated into herself.

"Careful, the floor is unstable on the second level," the voice crackled over the radio. The firemen had gone into the house looking for the woman the neighbor had seen earlier. The one that had been upstairs had come back down to the ground floor. He hadn't found anyone and it wasn't safe to stay up there. They felt the floor start to shake even on the ground floor and decided that they should get out.

"Hey, I found her! She's burned bad and coughing up blood!"

"Grab her and get out, the floor is going to give way at anytime!"

The firemen grabbed her and got her out of the house. A few seconds after they had gotten out, the house collapsed into the basement. The firemen passed Tabby off to the paramedics and went back to fight the fire. She was loaded into the ambulance, then wrapped her in wet sheets. One of the paramedics started an IV while the other poured water onto the sheets. The put an oxygen mask on her, only to have to wipe the blood out of it when she coughed.

Detective Cooper walked over to the ambulance. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of burned flesh. It always made her a bit sick. She could deal with a lot, but not this. She put her card on the clipboard, and nodded to the paramedic.

"Which hospital?" She asked, before popping a mint into her mouth.

"Good Sam, they have the closest burn unit." The paramedic got out, shut the doors, and walked to the driver's door.

"I'll be over there as soon as I'm done talking to the fire marshal. Plus, one of the other officers said I might need to call a dog to trace the suspect. A kid said he saw a guy walking down the alley before the fire."

"She looked like she got a good beating before the burns. She's on full O2 and still can't breath. Coughing up blood."

The ambulance drove off to Good Samaritan hospital ER…


	3. So cold, so sweet, so fair…

Thanks very much to my first reviewer limptulip! You get lots of cookies, huggles, and gold stars! Also, to my friends who don't have an account here but read it anyway, you are awesome!

Sorry for taking so long to update, had to recover from family events and editing my scribbles is a pain in the ass some days.

This chapter is a bit messy. Contains graphic details of the ER, things that sometimes happens in abuse cases and some "hospital humor"…

Chapter 3 – So cold, so sweet, so fair…

Dr. Clarson sighed. She really didn't care for working in the ER. However, the overtime was nice, since she had another double student loan payment coming up. Normally, she would be up on the burn unit, mostly tending to firemen and children. She hated tending people who purposely burned themselves and children who played with fire starters. Her children had learned at a very early age that matches and lighters weren't to be used without her or husband around. She didn't give them the typical scare story, she just told them the truth. Her kids weren't too much of a problem, and were actually better behaved than most of their peers. Plus having a stay at home dad helped, since he could look after them and the house. He was an army medic that had been wounded in battle. He couldn't hold down a job due to his disabilities, but he could clean the house and help the kids with their homework. He joked about him greeting her when she got home in an apron and pearls, with a martini and paper. She giggled to herself, trying to picture it, while finishing her charting.

"My goodness, it's so quiet tonight."

Everyone at the nurses' station glared at the new nursing student. To mention such a thing was just asking for trouble. It was a jinx, a taboo, a calling of a bad omen. Dr. Clarson already was fed up with the girl. She was stupid, plain and simple. She had tried to put a urinary catheter into a man who needed an IV catheter. She also had told a patient that they had herpes when they really had a sever case of dermatitis. Plus the rest of the nurses wanted to have her hung for the senseless babbling and her ever present need to tweet every second.

"Damn it girl! You done put da hoodoo on us! Get to da closet and count gauze pads!" Nurse Ruise, a very large black woman, snapped at the student nurse. She pointed to the supply closet and the girl walked in, sulking. She didn't take crap from anyone, having worked in one of the toughest neighborhoods in New Orleans. She was big enough to lift a 150lb patient by herself and she was the only person in the hospital who spoke French Creole as a first language. She grumbled to herself about bad omens and went back to her charting.

And then all hell broke loose. The waiting room filled with the sick and injured. Ambulances came rushing, carrying the critically injured and sick.

"Doc, da girl is a mess. Sorry." The nurse sighed and shook her head.

"It's a full moon, I was waiting for it." The doctor sighed and grabbed a set of gloves.

"Jane Doe, white female, adult of unknown age, unknown medical, just pulled out of a burning house. Burns to the arms, legs and back, coughing up blood, stab wounds to the back, bruising to the chest and abdomen, possible TBI, lots of cuts with embedded glass. O2 is 75, BP is 85/45. She isn't responding to anything. Had to start the IV in her neck. Also, this is the police officer that responded to the fire."

The paramedic handed over the file and the card to the doctor, before helping move her off of the gurney and the bed. Nurses swarmed over her, hooking her up to machines, cutting off her burned clothes. Dr. Clarson assessed the burns, first degree on her hands and feet, second on her back, second and third on her arms and legs. She had the nurses flip her over to look at her back.

"Jesus, something melted into her back!"

"Looks like a plastic bottle!"

"And those stab marks, looks like a broken glass bottle!"

The nurses looked at the wounds then back at the doctor.

"Ok, she needs an x-ray of her chest and back, for broken bones and glass fragments. Book a CT scan for her head and neck. Run a drug test as well as labs. She needs to be moved up to the burn unit to get cleaned out. Also, when you call up there, tell them we'll need extra skin and possibly a clean room."

The nurses went to their duties, and the doctor continued her assessment. While feeling the abdominal bruising, she was rewarded with vomited blood all over her scrubs.

"Shit! She has a laceration to her liver and possibly her intestines. Call the OR, she's going up now!"

The nurses packed up all the gear and wheeled her to the elevators. Two of the nurses went up with the doctor, the rest went back to the nurses' station to be assigned to other patients. The OR nurses were ready when they got there and took over monitoring. Dr. Henderson was scrubbing in when Dr. Clarson came in to brief him on the patient.

Dr. Henderson was an old doctor. The joke was he had started working there when the hospital opened, in 1885. He was a very kind and soft spoken man, who worked very hard to make his patients as whole as he could. He wasn't one to do "unnecessary work". He remembered being written up as a young doctor for failing to give a woman a hysterectomy when she had come in only for an appendectomy. He really hated it when other doctors did all the extras, but he felt they got their come uppence when they got sued. He's malpractice rate was so low that he got awards. He could care less, he just did what was needed and got out.

"Sad shame, she's a lovely lady. I've already got a portable x-ray in the room and Dr. Hon is already testing the gases. Hurry and scrub up."

"Huh? Me? Why?"

"I need you to help with the burns. I have a bit of training it, but since you the closest burn doctor, you can help me with the rest."

"But, I'm working the ER today, and they are short staffed. Plus I haven't finished my charting yet."

"My dear, I'll have a few calls made. I'm sure they can spare you for a while. She's in need of a lot of work that I cannot do alone. So please, get scrubbed and join me in fixing up this woman. As soon as she's out, she'll need you as much as she needs me."

He whispered a few things to his nurse then went to be gowned and gloved. Dr. Clarson sighed, changed her scrubs, and scrubbed in.

The dulcet tones of Jimmy Dorsey filled OR-6 as Dr. Clarson entered. Dr. Hon nodded at her as he checked O2 stats and adjusted the flow of the oxygen. The portable x-ray machine was being wheeled back to the corner as the x-ray techs exited the room with the films. She looked over at the nurses opening instrument packs and setting up trays for the doctors. Dr. Hon had already intubated and sedated the patient. He was busy making sure that her lungs didn't collapse and that the medication wasn't too strong.

"Dr. Clarson, your nurses wished to inform you of her drug test results. She's clean. Also, some of her other lab work came in. The only abnormal readings are for her liver functions. Makes sense because of her injuries. The really weird thing is that her adrenal functions are nothing. Someone with this amount of injury, even in coma patients, would have elevated levels. Her levels are so low, you'd think she was dead! Ah, here are my x-rays. Yes, she has a nasty cut to her liver, from a broken floating rib. Mostly leaking back into the intestines, but still need to get that repaired. Also, lots of glass everywhere. If I didn't know it was glass, I would also see it as bird shot from a few hundred feet. She's been cross typed and we've got enough blood. The nurses are skinning a cadaver as we speak, so that we won't need to skin her for grafts right now. Now, let's get started so we can get it over with." Dr. Henderson nodded, then asked for a scalpel.

As the doctors worked, they talked. Dr. Hon talked about his vacation to his cousin's wedding in Hong Kong. He hadn't seen most of his family in a while, and was happy to party with them on that joyous day. Dr. Henderson talked about saving a man's life earlier in his career and how he got another doctor fired for refusing to treat the man because he was black. Even the nurses got to laughing when he told about the doctor digging a hole for himself. Lucky for the man, his injury was very easy to fix and he was out of the hospital and back into the army after 8 days.

The liver had been repaired, and the rib that had sliced it was glued and wired back into place. Glass shards were removed and the cuts were cleaned and stitched. The burns were washed, debrided, and wrapped in clean gauze. The worst of the burns were covered in cadaver grafts, to insure faster healing and less infection risk. All the while, a nurse took pictures of her injuries for the police evidence department to collect later. After three hours of surgery, she was wheeled out and into a clean room on the burn unit.

Two weeks of recovery in the burn unit did wonders for her burns. They still needed work on some areas and she needed physical therapy to help herself back into working order. Her liver was working well again and her rib was healing on schedule. She physically was doing well.

The problem was with her mental state. She never said a word, never acknowledged any person, never responded to pain. She ate, but it was mechanical. She didn't fight, or make any noise when her bandages were changed. She looked like a puppet with cut strings, just there but not there at all.

Nurse Clair took care of her. Changing her bandages, bringing her meals, taking to her. She was a bit worried about the fact that her patient never talked to her. She wondered if it was because she didn't speak English, was deaf, or had mental delays. She would talk to her anyway, explaining things as she did them. The only response she got was when bathing the patient. She always would flinch when her genitals and buttocks were washed. Nurse Clair always told her that it was just washing and that nothing sexual would happen. Clearly this woman had been sexually abused. She did what she was told, and nothing more. She ate everything she was given. Sometimes it was too much, she would vomit but try to eat the vomit. The nurses would clean it up, give her smaller potions, and tell her not to make herself sick. She never watched TV, and would stare into the corner.

Dr. Clarson was worried. She had never seen something like this. She had met patients that had high pain thresholds or were in extreme shock and didn't even feel pain. But the thing that worried her the most was the morphine pump. She had been connected to it, and it was set to give her a dose every four hours. She has explained how to use the button if she was in pain and needed an extra dose. After two days she checked the pump. Normally, in a case like this, it would be empty or nearly empty. It was only down by 1/4.

This was just weird. It didn't make sense at all, and she wondered if something psychological was going on. She called for a consult with Dr. Murphy, the head of the psychology department.

Dr. Murphy tried talking with her, gave her puzzles, and asked her to perform tasks. She never talked, looked at the puzzles, but never did them. Only a few tasks she could do, like moving body parts. The mental tasks, she did nothing. When asked to look at the doctor, her eyes looked empty and made Dr. Murphy uneasy. Something was very wrong. The doctor began to limit the diseases, but there were a few she couldn't throw out.

She called in Dr. Lee, a neurologist, to do CT scans of the head. She may have had these issues because of brain trauma from being hit with the bottle or smoke inhalation. Since he could take a look inside her brain, he would be able to tell if it was physical or psychological.

After running tests, the doctors got back to Dr. Clarson.

"Her CT doesn't seem to suggest a major brain injury. I do see a concussion, but not in an area that would cause these symptoms. I know that there was also another concussion she had, maybe as a small child that was never treated. It may be that the parents didn't think there was anything wrong. It could have been from abuse, and the parents never reported it. But in this case, she needs to be moved into rehab for her burns." Dr. Lee handed his findings over to Dr. Clarson

"I am sure this is a physiological issue. She's closed herself off to the world and is in need of intense psychological therapy. She's not catatonic, but it's like running on basic auto pilot. It wasn't as if she was refusing to do anything, it was as if she couldn't do it to begin with. I believe that she would need to be institutionalized to help her with what's going on." Dr. Murphy handed her findings over to Dr. Clarson.

"What could have caused this? I'm sorry, but I've never seen this before." Dr. Clarson quickly put together her chart and

"Well, I've seen this before in abuse situations, PTSD, and in people suffering from Stockholm syndrome. I'm not sure what she has, but I've sorted out the things she doesn't have. She needs help, to rebuild both her body and mind. I know a place that will help her rehab her body and mind. Let me see if I can get her into there. If I can get her in, she'll be leaving this evening."

They looked at her, and hoped that they could help her.

The ghost saw everything and heard everything. Everyone placed in their little boxes, safe and sound. There was pain, but it was ignored. Just a distraction, like a gnat buzzing. Mobility would be a problem, the skin was warped from the fire. While this was supposed to be a safe haven, enemies could still present themselves. There were weapons, even in this isolated room. If in danger, the protector would be released. Until anything changed, surveillance would continue.


End file.
